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by trashy_cas



Series: natsumeweek [2]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen, Prompt: Celebrations/Get-togethers, basically everyone who loves natsume, please give him more love, set one year after his arrival at the Fujiwara's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashy_cas/pseuds/trashy_cas
Summary: Natsume worries (again). Set one year after his arrival at the Fujiwara's.





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**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 of natsumeweek. Prompt: Celebrations/Get-togethers  
> Sorry I'm late! Finals are rough :(

The day starts out like any other.

After he shakes off the inevitable morning drowsiness, prodding awake a disgruntled (and most likely hungover) Nyanko-sensei, and finishing breakfast with Touko and Shigeru, Natsume breathes a sigh of relief. No ayakashi banging on his window in the time between dead of night and early morning, none of the bone-throbbing tiredness that came with returning names for hours on end. Just him, his foster parents, his cat, and his schoolbag hanging over his uniform, pressed free of wrinkles thanks to Touko-san’s impeccable ironing.

He almost could forget that today is slightly different than the rest.

(He had decided, about a week ago, that he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. To the others, it is just a normal day).

Halfway to school, after Nyanko-sensei has at least somewhat recovered from the bright morning sunlight peeking through the cracks in the nearby hills, he notices it, too. “You’re in an awfully good mood this morning,” he muses, momentarily distracted by a dragonfly. “Did you finally decide to hand over the Book of Friends?”

Natsume raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with Sensei’s attempts to nab the dragonfly. “No, Sensei,” he says. “I’m just glad I finally got a full night’s rest for once. Returning names is hard.”

They come up to the bridge that spans the river across from their school, its faded red beams now familiar to Natsume after one year of walking past them everyday. “Then you should just give it to me now, and save yourself the trouble,” Nyanko-sensei says, having given up on the dragonfly with the air of one who has not really given up at all. He waddles ahead, round head held high proudly. “Besides, a weakling like you wouldn’t be able to handle this for another year, or however long you humans stay in one place.”

Thankfully, Natsume is spared from responding by a friendly call of his name from behind. He turns to find Tanuma and Kitamoto, with Nishimura sprinting not far behind.

“Natsume!” Tanuma raises his hand in greeting.

Once again, Natsume is struck with the realization that _these are his friends._ He cannot help but smile, and wave back. “Morning!”

_“You wouldn’t be able to handle this for another year.”_

He tries his best to shake away Nyanko-sensei’s words and continues on with the others, Nishimura wheezing as he runs to catch up with them, the sound of everyone’s laughter filling the morning air.

He hopes that his smile doesn’t slip at the thought of a year going by, of a year closer to the end of whatever he has now.

He hopes that they don’t notice when it does anyway.

~

It’s around lunchtime that Natsume begins to realize that the day had been going a little _too_ well for it to last. It begins with Nishimura, who seems distracted all throughout class, even when Taki asked him if she could borrow his eraser. When Natsume asks if he’s feeling alright, he snaps his too-intense gaze up from his shoes to Natsume, eyes wide with fear.

“I’m--uh, yeah. Everything’s fine,” he mutters, then glances nervously towards the door. “Oh, well--gotta go!” he stands quickly, ignoring Natsume’s puzzled expression, and makes a beeline for the door, where Natsume swears he sees Tanuma’s unruly black hair disappearing around the corner.

Kitamoto is quick to follow him, sparing Natsume a quick glance as he goes. “I’d better follow him,” he says apologetically. “Never know what trouble he’s getting into.”

Natsume watches them leave, hand outstretched, mouth halfway into asking if they wanted to eat lunch on the roof together. “Oh, a-alright.”

Throughout the day, he can’t get Nishimura’s expression out of his head. It’s been awhile since he’s seen that kind of...

“Sorry about that, Natsume-kun,” says Sasada sympathetically, at the end of class. “I’m sure that they’re just being stupid again. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Natsume nods slowly, feeling as if his head has not quite caught up with his body.

Even though his physical reflexes have rarely let him down, his gut-reaction when it comes to emotions is not so quick on its toes. He supposes that months of allowing himself to enjoy his time with others has made him accustomed to it, so much so that he has almost forgotten what it feels like to be left behind.

_“You wouldn’t be able to handle this for another year.”_

For the second time that day, he ignores the pit that grows ever-larger in his stomach. It’s probably nothing, he tells himself.

He tells himself this up until even Tanuma starts avoiding him, declining Natsume’s request to walk home together with a nervous laugh and a hasty excuse.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Natsume says with a smile that nearly hurts his face. “Tell your dad I hope he gets better!” He walks away from the front gate as quickly as he can, hoping he hadn’t looked too dejected.

Nyanko-sensei follows him home though, singing about steamed buns and the fried shrimp that Touko-san said she would make for dinner tonight.

“Oi, Natsume!” he says once they’ve crossed the bridge for the second time. “Let’s go to that store, the one that sells those cookies that you bought the other day.”

“Not today, Sensei,” Natsume sighs. “Besides, you were the one who ate all of them in the first place.”

“That’s besides the point,” says Sensei haughtily. “We’re going, or I’m telling the mid-ranks that you’re hosting dinner at your place for the next two weeks.”

Natsume knows he’s joking, but figures he should indulge him, just this once. He thinks it’ll be a nice distraction. “Fine. But I only have so much allowance, and I’m not asking the Fujiwaras for anymore.”

By the time they exit the supermarket, Natsume’s pockets considerably lighter than before, the sun has already begun to set. Now, it is golden hour, the light like strands of fine silk against the greenness of the hills, slowly filtering into splashes and spots that dot the trees. Natsume wonders if he could reach out and touch the beams that slat across the forest floor; if he, too, would slip right through the cracks of this world, into the mysteries of the other one. It has given him so much grief already, caused him so much pain, would it really be so hard to become a permanent part of it?

(Although, he supposes, some of his encounters with youkai have also been nothing short of amazing).

Sensei is surprisingly quiet as they walk along the “shortcut” he found a couple weeks after they had met. Natsume figures it must be the cookies that rendered him speechless, and lets him be.

However, as they approach the Fujiwara’s, his feet seem to root themselves to the ground, and his pace slows. “Hey, Sensei.”

Sensei keeps walking, his stubby little feet only carrying him so far away from Natsume. “What do you want now?” he says, mouth full of sarcasm, and possibly cookies.

Natsume wonders if it’s possible to feel like the world is beginning and ending all at once. He lowers his eyes to the dirt path, unsure of where to look. “Do…do you think it’s been too long?”

Sensei scoffs. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Since I came here. I’ve never…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Natsume,” Sensei says, suddenly serious. He stops walking up to turn and look behind him, his black eyes narrowed to sits and the shadow of his true self stretching out behind him. It’s times like these that Natsume remembers what his bodyguard really is underneath all the fur and squabbling.

“Your existence is a mere blink of an eye for me. One year is nothing. I have existed for so long that I’ve seen things you wouldn’t even dream of, boy.”

He turns back around, his voice, if Natsume is not mistaken, a few hairs softer, maybe even begrudgingly fond. “You humans. Always measuring time by your own standards. Gimme a break.”

Natsume’s lips quirk up. “I suppose you’ll always be with me, no matter where I go, then?”

“Don’t kid yourself. I’m just here for the Book of Friends. When you die, it’s mine.”

Natsume figures that it’s a good enough answer, and looks up from the ground to glance behind him. He swears something is following him again, but all he sees are the trees a few paces from the foot of the hill. The forest waves back at him in a friendly manner, spring wind stirring up the branches, leaves whirling in little eddies, as if saying hello. Natsume allows himself another little smile. “Whatever you say, Sensei.”

With an unconcerned _hmmph_ , Sensei continues on his trek towards Touko-san’s fried shrimp, and Natsume turns back around to follow him.

He slides open the front door, removes his shoes, hollers “I’m home!” as always.

Silence greets him.

“Touko-san? Shigeru-san? Hello? Is anyone here?”

No response.

_Oh, no._

All the blood drains from his face. He can feel that pit grow in his stomach once more, clawing up to his throat and forcing his breath out in quick, uneven gasps. He looks around frantically, glancing in dark corners full shadows that could quickly turn into hands that grab, into teeth that tear--

“Sensei, do you sense anything--?”

There is no sign of Nyanko-sensei, either.

Natsume runs through each room of the house, tearing away doors, feet thumping against the wooden floor.

He should have known that his peaceful days here wouldn’t have lasted.

_“You wouldn’t be able to handle this for another year.”_

Natsume doesn’t know what he would do if something happened, if some particularly nasty youkai with a taste for cruel irony decided to destroy the little life he’s built here exactly one year after his arrival, but if that’s the case, then--

He bursts into the backyard, and promptly trips over his own feet, sending him sprawling.

“Natsume?!”

He looks up.

His eyes widen.

There, in the Fujiwara’s backyard, is _everyone._

Touko, her hands clasped around her heart fondly; Shigeru, arms folded and a proud smile on his face. Tanuma, dark hair ruffled as he sheepishly runs his hands through it, Taki, beaming at him while also side-eyeing Nyanko-sensei, Kitamoto, flashing him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, Nishimura, asking him to hurry up and give him the lighter so he can begin lighting the sparklers, and Sasada, nudging Nishimura and hissing “he’s already here, you idiot!”

Natsume turns towards the more shadowed areas of the forest that resides behind the house, and sees the mid-ranks, cheering him on with bottles of sake swinging precariously between them, Hinoe raising her pipe in the barest of acknowledgment, Misuzu’s enormous form looming within the trees, Benio’s butterfly mask glinting in the evening sun, Chobihige’s hands folding and unfolding nervously in his robes, Kappa waving eagerly at him, and Nyanko-sensei, trying to pry the sake away from the mid-ranks with as much dignity as he can muster.

_Everyone._

_“Welcome home, Natsume!’_ they all cry in unison, their voices echoing across the grassy lawn just  as the sun hits the treeline, and for a moment, Natsume cannot see anything, just golden light, so bright he has to squint and raise a shaking hand to his face. He picks himself off the floor, nearly trembling, his emotions so much a whirling mess he can’t make sense of them. Relief tinged with the traces of fear, shock colored with awe, but most of all—

 _Happiness_.

He is so happy it spills over his face, across his lips, bringing to life the small dimples around his cheeks that Touko-san likes to squeeze and sparking little prickles behind his eyes that he hopes won’t spill over, because it’ll just make them worry more. His next words, though, are pitched a little higher than normal, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly.

 _“I’m home,”_ he says, because he is.

It has been one year since Natsume first showed up at the Fujiwara’s doorstep with demons that no one could see behind him, glassy eyes facing towards nothing that anyone could see ahead.

One year later, the demons are still (mostly) invisible to others (and perhaps no longer demons), but _Natsume_ is not invisible, or feared, or passed along to the next house of judgment and hardship, of locked doors and harsh whispers.

And his eyes, now more full of light than ever, have turned outward, not inward, to the rising sun that is his family, his friends, his future.

  
_He is finally home._


End file.
